


Silver Reflection

by Nanosilver



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cheesy, Fluff, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-08
Updated: 2015-12-08
Packaged: 2018-05-05 15:38:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5380667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nanosilver/pseuds/Nanosilver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Madara and Indra are birds of a feather. Their ideals are of a similar nature, but sometimes their ideas are not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silver Reflection

Konoha was a scorched city. Whatever the sun hadn't touched still withered in the swelling heat sweeping into every corner, every crevice, and into the mind of each and every person. A heavy blanket of heat and humidity dropped on thoughts and words, making each sentence a slog through a bog full of dead ends.

And if someone desperately wanted to have this put into words of a simpler mind... Madara was tired. The sun had been beating down mercilessly through the classroom windows, and he almost fell asleep on his desk once or twice while the teacher droned on endlessly about the conservation of heat in cold climates.  
Ahahaha. Funny. Really.

It wasn't even relevant. He just liked to hear himself talk.

At high noon no one  _sane_  had been out and about, barring of course the occasional straggler scurrying from shade to shade. The heat was almost unnatural, oppressive. In short, even one Madara Uchiha couldn't really take it, and the young man usually prided himself on being weather resistant. Which basically only meant heat resistant, because he tended to get unpleasant when things got too cold for his liking.

In his eighteen years he hadn't experienced such a summer once, and after careful consideration that had taken about a quarter of a second out of his day he had also come to the conclusion that he didn't  _desire_  to experience it ever again. With that thought in mind he strolled through the gates, flipping open the protective case of his phone.

Fun fact, he has tried living without one before. A protective phone casing, that is. Within a month a nice and even crack had begun to decorate the center of his screen, and after a few more months the crack had widened to a spider web, at which point Indra had decided to take mercy on him and gifted him the proper casing for his phone.

_Indra._

Madara felt the name idly drift through his mind while his eyes skimmed the numbers on his screen. It was  _his_  number, he knew that well enough. Generally he didn't feel the need to name his phone contacts; he memorized their numbers and that was enough for him. People had often called him weird for it.

He hadn't named Indra's number either. There was no need. He knew it so well that his heart sped up just a tiny bit even now, just from looking at it, just from knowing what it meant.

He pressed the small message symbol and watched the screen flicker. He had honestly expected a text message, but instead Indra's voice suddenly rang in his ears, mercilessly blasting from his speakers.

_Come over._

Madara's lips twitched.

Indra was  _bored_. The teenager could tell from the tone of the student's voice, from the fact that he had actually sent a  _voice message,_  heaven forbid, and from the fact that Madara's phone had buzzed the very moment he had stepped out of school, as if Indra had been waiting impatiently for a chance to contact him.

He never sent him messages in class, saying Madara didn't need the distraction. Perhaps he was right, unfortunately Hashirama did not exactly share that opinion, so the supposed effect of the gesture was lost anyway. The quirky girl was his age however, and Indra was not. In fact, he was twenty-two and only still lived with his father because he couldn't be arsed to leave the lap of luxury he had been so generously raised in, at least not until he finished with university.

Madara typed a quick response, then sought the least sun-scorched path to the bus stop he could find. Thankfully Konoha prided itself on being a green city, which basically meant a tree at every corner, and the way to the bus stop wasn't exactly long.

The bus ride was uneventful if giving the impression of sitting in a boiling pot, and the rest of the path he had to walk in the sun because the way up to Indra's mansion was completely tree-less.

What a travesty.

The Ootsutsuki were old blood. Older than the Uchiha, who Indra was related to on his biological mother's side, and older than the Senju. They had once been branch houses until a few centuries ago, and later the Senju split again, while a fourth branch family emerged in the western part of the city. They were all likely still related  _somehow_ , but it felt so irrelevant now, so meaningless. The Uchiha were content with their own and the Ootsutsuki were nowadays reduced to maybe fifty members.

Indra wasn't the most typical of them in any case.

The door opened before Madara even managed to walk the entire path, revealing the university student impatiently staring at him in a white Yukata obviously lazily thrown on and tied close just a few minutes before, and plural already felt like a generous estimation here. He was barefooted, dark-brown hair clearly brushed but openly falling down his shoulders instead of his usual ponytail.

Madara felt warmth spread in his chest at the sight – Indra rarely decided to be this lazy about himself, but whenever he did it was almost... cute.

No, that was not a word he planned to use often, especially not in the presence of Indra. He didn't really appreciate it, and unlike  _certain_  other people Madara tended to respect such wishes.

Indra was lazily fanning himself with a fan bearing the crescent moon of the Ootsutsuki. The symbol was kind of plastered on every surface of this house already, but evidently that wasn't enough.

"You're slow," Indra quipped, lips twitching, perhaps fighting the urge to smirk lightly.

"And you're awful," Madara retorted. It was a weak reply, he knew, but damn the heat was making him sluggish. Slowed down his thought process, stopped his brain from being useful. "Why is your hair open?"  
The older man shrugged with the feline grace of a panther. "Why is yours?"

There was amusement in his smooth and rather deep voice, a soft gleam slowly pushing away the dull and bland shimmer in his eyes. Oh, he was bored, alright. Bored enough to find even this mindless small talk entertaining.

"Is your day that dull?"  
Indra's glance shifted, drifting to the side. He snapped the fan close, lips pressed together tightly. "Yeah."

Madara had used this mindless exchange of words to climb the stairs, nearly finding himself eye to eye with the Ootsutsuki now. He was a bit taller still, though Madara attributed this to age.

"Why not go out?"

The other snorted as if terribly insulted by such a  _ridiculous_  notion. "Leaving the luxury of air conditioning?"

Madara paused for a second, remembering his time walking in the sun. "Point."

His conversation partner turned around and stepped back inside, deeming the conversation over. Madara followed suit, finding himself greeted by a wall of cold and fresh air gently touching his skin.

It was  _glorious._

Having a spoiled and rich boyfriend had its perks.

The room was scented with a kind of flowery touch that immediately began to cling to his senses and reminded him of spring rather than summer. He knew that Indra enjoyed living his life on the lighter side, despite being a workaholic to the bone. Perhaps this explained why he never felt stressed. Or rather never showed it.

"My father isn't home," he droned, sounding rather bored, though Madara knew that this was an act rather than the real thing. Bored Indra was  _different,_ and after all he had entertainment now. "Out with his wife."  
"Your brother?" The words were out before he could stop himself.

Indra paused, seeming completely still for a precious few seconds. Madara halted next to him, feeling his own arm brush against his. He wondered if maybe he shouldn't have asked, but with Indra it was hard to tell.

"Upstairs," the man responded, brushing a strand of hair out of his face. "Don't know what he's doing."

Madara sensed that he was tense, though not for what reason. It's possible that he had fought with his father again, or his brother, or even his stepmother. His relationship with his family was strained at best.

"Kissing his pillow?"

The Ootsutsuki snorted snidely, lips twitching. "That's what  _you_  do when I'm not around."

"As if."  
"Ah, you're only hugging it, aren't you."

"I'm not-..."

Madara threw a pointy glare at his decidedly too self-confident partner, who merely smirked in return and leisurely strolled towards the stereo. The Uchiha felt ignored, realizing that Indra did not deem it necessary to acknowledge his glare even after intensifying it.

Alright. Point taken.

Ass.

He gave up after coming to the conclusion that continuing was an exercise in futility and instead began to pick a place to sit down.

"Thirsty?" Indra inquired nonchalantly while turning on the stereo, eventually stopping on a gentle classical tune. He was a rather musically inclined, while Madara couldn't do much with it beyond listening to it. Regardless he hummed gently in response, allowing himself to enjoy the moment. Life seemed quiet whenever he was with Indra, if perhaps only because it was so far away from everything else.

There was a moment of inner silence despite the music softly sounding in the background while the host went to fetch something to drink and Madara opted to lounge around on the sofa. In comparison to outside the room was incredibly comfortable, despite the sunlight flooding in through the uncovered windows.

Eventually Indra returned carrying jug of cold water and two empty cups, placed them on the small table and then gracefully settled on the sofa next to him. Madara admired how he moved – always precise, always with grace. With the way he carried himself it was easy to assume that he was royalty, and even when as lazy about his appearance as today Indra still emitted an air of superiority and an innate sense of style, an aura that simply made him seem ethereal no matter what.

"No tea?" Madara inquired softly, feeling that anything just a touch louder would've bothered the gentle atmosphere that had fallen on the room like a blanket of snow.

"Hm," Indra hummed in response. "Not feeling it. Did you want some?"

The younger softly shook his head, eyes unfocused. "Just wondering."

It was unlike him to not drink tea, but perhaps the day was too hot even for him with his awesome air conditioning. He  _was_  lazily walking around in a Yukata and with his hair open and completely unbraided, and Madara knew he didn't exactly like strolling around like that. His hair turned into an untamed mess as quickly as his own.

He startled when he felt a few strands of hair shift out of his vision, softly tickling his skin as they moved. Something tugged at them lightly, brushed them back to join the rest, the less annoying, less rebellious strands. Some stuck to his forehead from sweat after his brief walk in the sun.

Indra's pale hand gently curled a few strands of his pitch-black hair, rubbing them between his fingers. Madara kept perfectly still, gaze drifting slowly, so terribly slowly, perhaps out of fear that he'd break the moment if moving just a little too fast. Indra was focused entirely on his hair, red eyes barely wavering.

Eventually he stopped curling. Madara froze, half anticipating, half dreading his next action, whether he'd stay close or pull away, tease or deliver.

Then the hand was suddenly gone – or rather not, rather moved, softly ran through his hair to the back of his head, a light pressure pushing him close before he could even attempt to pull back, Indra dipping his head with a smirk just barely bordering on a smile... and then he felt warmth.

A day passed quickly when spent playing strategic board games. Madara didn't enjoy things that hinged entirely on luck and neither did Indra, so games like chess were all that remained.

Their victories tended to be distributed fairly evenly – neither truly surpassed the other in intellect, and Madara liked it that way. The one thing he wanted to match people in above all else.

They alternated between that and talking about things, and while Madara hadn't been able to tickle the reason for his current issues with his brother out of him he had at least managed to get the Ootsutsuki to ease up about it.

Eventually... eventually he got sluggish though. He lost too many times, until Indra decided to cut the line.

"You're sleepy," he stated, as if it were a fact, not just a mere fact but a fact of life and he unquestionably were the god of such things. Admittedly to him it  _was_  a fact, because he was Indra and no one was better at observing people than him, and losing so many times was not like Madara at all.

"I'm not," Madara mumbled, perhaps not realizing that it seemed slurred, perhaps not wanting to acknowledge it, perhaps, just perhaps not wanting to put an end to this game yet.

"You should lie down."

Soft words from a softer tongue yet, and even though Madara shook his head he barely disagreed when the board was pulled away. He was so remarkably good at pretending, but Indra was so remarkably good at not falling for pretense. Perhaps there was the one thing constant distrust was good for, and he was unarguably the king of that at least.

"it's just too warm," Madara mumbled, tired, sleepy, drowsy – allowing his head to hit the sinfully soft armrest of the sofa. Perhaps he wouldn't have if it hadn't been so warm, but as things were he was drowsy, and having a hand run through his hair so didn't help matters, oh no.

It was an evil act to say the least; his ears and head were sensitive, and the world faded not long after.

And when he returned the world was dark.

Not entirely, no. There was a weak light coming through the windows, soft moonlight flooding the room where sunlight had been. He got up from the sofa, feeling that his head was spinning just a little bit too fast, but stubbornly remained on two legs. The air felt fresh and cool even though the constant soft hum of the air conditioner had subsided.

Things felt quiet.

It took him a few seconds to assess the situation, then he lightly stalked through the sliding door and into the mansion's vast garden.

The tiling of the terrace was neither cold nor warm, as was the air and the wind that gently blew through his hair. The heat of the day had made way for a comfortable night, not hot, not cold, and the air so breathable that the stiffing humidity of the tedious hours of noon was only a faint memory now.

He sought Indra's shape among the shadows and found it ghosting through life between the garden's colorful flowerbeds, now sleepy and muted. His gaze was drifting, here and there and really nowhere in particular, but the moment Madara appeared in his field of vision he stopped, nodding softly. A gesture, an invitation.

Indra seemed like a creature of the night, Madara thought – he belonged here, between sleeping flowers and beneath the moonlight, with the wind playing its quiet symphony. And perhaps he himself belonged here too.

It didn't take him long to join Indra on his walk, though he didn't know where the older student was headed. His hair was still open and his side-braids still weirdly absent,which only made him look more like a ghost tonight. In the pale moonlight his hair was almost as black as his own.

The only thing standing out in the dark, Madara realized as he caught up, was the ruby-red of Indra's eyes.

"That was a long nap," Indra breathed, gaze resting on something undefined in the distance. It shifted then, eyes focused on him alone, and Madara had to stop himself from taking a deep breath.

Stupid idiot looking pretty.

"What did you do?"  
Indra scoffed. "Let you sleep."  
"... Funny."

Whoever thought Indra didn't have a sense of humor, tiny and black as it was, got it wrong. Sure he did have one. He just kinda wasn't really funny. Or perhaps he was, simply by how utterly serious he managed to be at the same time.

He ignored Madara's response and instead changed the direction of his walk, picking up the pace a little. "Thought about things."

"Things?"

Madara had no trouble keeping up with him. He was physically fit after all, and they were still walking at a relatively comfortable pace overall.

"Life," the brunet droned, eyes growing distant slowly.

"Your brother?"

Ruby eyes fell shut, shunning the world. "Hn."

"I see."

It was hard sometimes, hard to figure out what Indra was thinking about – he knew one thing though, and that was that Indra was a lot more thoughtful than people assumed. He was never truly mentally absent, but he often wasn't exactly present either.

"Do you?" Indra suddenly spoke, curtly and sharply, as if a knife had suddenly cut through his mind and sliced it in half. "My brother thinks that love can save the world."

Madara felt almost jarred by the sudden switch in atmosphere. He cocked a brow, wondering what the hell this was about. "Love?" he inquired, not sure whether to be amused or annoyed.

"You know that my family is supporting the war in Suna."

"Let me guess, 'why can't we all just get along'?"

Indra scoffed. "Something like that. If only they understood each other, he says. Because Understanding erases centuries of hate."

Madara frowned, wondering.

One of his best friends was Hashirama, a Senju through and through. She wasn't necessarily typical, but she stood for her clan nonetheless. Still... that hadn't ever stopped their families from quarreling.

And yet...

"Perhaps not..." he mused, lowering his eyes to the ground. The grass under his feet was comfortably cool. A lot more comfortable than the thought of having to abandon his friend over a family feud.

"But it sure would help."

Indra remained silent for a while, perhaps contemplating his words, perhaps thinking of different things. Such conversations between them were not rare, even if they often ended with Madara being called a hopeless idealist.

"What did you tell him?"

It was Indra's turn to frown. "That understanding isn't possible."

"Why not?"

They had arrived at the pool, a bastion of color in the middle of a colorless night. The water was clear and shimmering blue from the wall and ground up, and the pool lights emitted a soft radiance reflecting wavy lines on their pale skin.

Indra tilted his head, eyes looking past the surface and through their blurred reflections. Above them was the moon, throwing harsh white shapes on top of every ripple in the water. Madara wondered if Indra saw something else there, a different moon or a different water right now, if the world seemed that different to him.

And then the world suddenly moved.

Ice pricked his skin, black mixing with blue and white and everything in between. His lungs cried out for air when each breath only sucked more of the suffocating substance. Half a second passed before he had the mind to move his arms, kicking water blindly and helplessly until his back hit the tiled ground of the pool and he finally caught himself. He pushed himself towards the surface – still blind because no he wasn't going to open his eyes down here – and...

Found himself met halfway.

To be perfectly honest, the kiss tasted of chlorine and water. It wasn't exactly romantic either, and Madara was torn between grabbing him and punching his gut. His fingers curled around Indra's wrists while he felt his partner's hands slide over his cheeks, and eventually the now chilling air icily touched his wet skin as they both broke through the surface and drew breath.

First instinct told him to seek out warmth, but Madara decided to follow the second impulse and slammed his fist into his boyfriend's stomach, drawing a pained groan from him. "Asshole."

"Heeh," the elder moaned weakly, "deserved, I... suppose."

"Very much so," Madara responded, feeling unimpressed. He knew Indra could take pain, and  _Indra_  knew that Madara really didn't like water. At least not when it was... cold. Right, about that...

He found himself pressing his body against the only source of warmth in this freezing pool, arms pulled around his waist in a nigh crushing embrace. They both were now wet to the bone, and while the wet-dog look seemed to suit Indra rather well he himself didn't exactly find it flattering.

"Too cold now? And here you were moaning about the heat all noon..." Indra whispered mischievously, and somehow Madara knew he had set himself up for this one.

"As I said, you're awful."

Indra hummed. "You see, but I think I did the right thing."  
At the self-confident smirk of his older partner Madara scowled. "And I disagree."

"I am not surprised, but the universe won't seek retribution for you."

Madara felt the mood shift somehow, wondering if all this had only been a game to prove a point. "The universe will not, but I could."

"Yes," the Ootsutsuki responded. "Humans make their own rules. Each and every single one of them."

Somehow he knew where this was going, and he didn't know if he could argue against it. So close together he could feel his heartbeat, calm and collected, and yet... "You saying your rules allow you to throw your boyfriends into cold water?"

A smirk, a subtle twitch of his lips, gone as quickly as it had come. "Perhaps."

"Any other such  _rules_  I should know of?"

There was pressure on his lips, quick and precise, warm and gone so fast he felt himself yearn for it to return. "You know them all."

"I see. You're saying there are no objective rules."

Indra tilted his head, eyes gleaming sharply. "There is no objective right and wrong. All people have their own rules. To achieve absolute peace, understanding is required."

"You think people will never agree because we all have our own rules."

_Understanding isn't possible._

"And how little is enough to start a war, Madara? Do you even still remember why the Senju and Uchiha are fighting?"

The younger closed his eyes, pondering. Love.

Love and betrayal were enough to start a war, if old legends were to be believed. He bit back on this comment though, not feeling like he should feed Indra's cynicism on this matter.

"Not much," he muttered, "remarkably little sometimes..."

"People will fight if they feel their principles breached, but with several billion people on this planet, do you honestly think everyone will ever agree on just one single principle, much less enough to prevent every single conflict ever?"

"No," he responded quietly, "but perhaps it just needs to be enough people rather than all of them."

Indra narrowed his eyes, and the sharp gleam turned dangerous. "But how much is enough? What do you do with the rest?"

There were a million words in his mind that he could have chosen as a response. Ignore. Destroy. Subjugate.

In the end, they all meant the same – they all meant to dominate the mind of another, either by ignoring them and taking away their place in the world or by entirely erasing them.

Force.

It was a harrowing thought. World peace was cute on principle, but its implications were horrifying. Believing that some day people would no longer find ground for conflict was by all means a pipe dream, an idea of utopia that could never come true.

But forcing the world to adhere to your beliefs? Was that right?

Who could say? Indra was correct, objectively there were neither right nor wrong. Good and evil were human concepts. How could people ever reach an understanding if their ideas of right and wrong didn't even align?

Someone would always lose. Someone would always have to suffer for another to be saved.

The world was by no means a pretty place. It was cold. So terribly cold.

Suddenly he missed the heat of the day, its light and brightness.

There was a hand on his cheek before too long, reminding him that even here he wasn't alone. With slender fingers and graceful movements his pitch-black shirt, wet and heavy and clinging to his skin as it was, disappeared and left his skin to the mercy of the cold air. He found himself staring into ruby eyes, seeking something he wasn't sure he would be able to find tonight. Yet there it was, a soft and tiny shimmer of warmth, threatening to devour him whole if he would only allow it to.

Even if peace wasn't attainable right now, this sure was.


End file.
